


Snape's Thumbprints

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drugs, Implied M/M, Implied threesomes, Multi, implied m/m/f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary: </b> HP Minifest 2012 Prompt:  <i>Not happy about his assignment to bake Christmas cookies for the staff party, Severus decides to use a secret potion to teach the others a lesson.</i>   Every year, staff members draw an assignment from the Sorting Hat to determine what they must prepare for the staff Yule party. When Severus has to make homemade biscuits using Minerva’s Grandmother’s recipe, he is none too happy and decides to add a special ingredient to stir things up a bit. And while he expected to have a bit of fun, he hadn’t expected it to be at his own expense. When everyone feels free to say exactly what’s on their minds, why are they all talking about Severus?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snape's Thumbprints

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
>  **A/N:** Thanks to my Aunt Linda, who will _not_ be reading this on-line, for her excellent recipe for Santa’s Thumbprint Cookies.
> 
> This work was written for the 2012 HP Mini Fest on Live Journal

_Flour._

Severus hefted the four kilo bag of flour onto the counter. Didn’t the house elves buy _anything_ in small quantities at Hogwarts?

_Butter._

He’d need at least a kilo. That should give everyone enough cholesterol for a holiday heart attack.

_Salt._

He hoped there would be some left he could rub into an open wound. The sensation would certainly be more pleasant than baking Christmas confections for the staff Yule party.

_Pecans._

Pecans were expensive, had to be cracked and shelled, and then one had to fish out those bitter inner shells. More trouble than they were worth, frankly, but Minerva had made a point of telling him that the pecans were a non-negotiable ingredient.

_Confectioner’s Sugar._

_Vanilla._

_Jam._

Jam was no problem. He’d tucked a Christmas gift from the previous year into the recesses of one of his cupboards. It was a collection of breakfast preserves in miniature decorative jars.

He smiled wickedly.

Preserves were the perfect vehicle to deliver an extra little punch to the Christmas biscuits he’d been _tasked_ with making for the staff party. Well, he’d been forced to pull a Yule party assignment out of the Sorting Hat, anyway. He’d tried to trade with Filius; the lucky bastard only had to bring rum for the Irish coffee. Two bottles, but what were a few galleons when you could walk into a shop in Hogsmeade and buy them, instead of slaving over a hot oven for an afternoon? 

Filius had taken one look at the recipe Severus had drawn (no, he couldn’t make just _any_ cookies, could he?) and had laughed in his face.

“Oh, no, Severus. No indeed. Two bottles of Captain Morgan, and I’m back to marking essays.” He patted his pocket where he’d tucked his assignment. “I think I’ll send Winky out after it, in fact,” he said as he wandered away.

“I’ll trade with you, Severus.” 

Severus spun around. The former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been at the Defense post for three years now. He was the darling of the school, even more so when the youngest Pott-ette was sitting on his lap or clinging to his leg. Potter and his professional Quidditch coach wife had somehow managed to produce a late-in-life child after he took the Hogwarts position. Well, at least they’d finally gotten the genetics right, and their latest progeny had both red hair _and_ her grandmother’s lovely green eyes. 

Severus turned toward Potter and raised one grey-flecked eyebrow.

“And what did you draw?” He sounded childish and petulant but, frankly, he didn’t care. He detested the staff Christmas party with a passion.

Potter shook his head and sighed. “Decorations. Specifically, one hundred paper snowflakes, individually cut, decorated with glitter and charmed to hover over our heads during the party.”

“What a lovely assignment. The entire family can help.” Severus voice dripped with sarcasm.

Harry rolled his eyes. “They’d rather help make biscuits. Besides, we make them every year—twelve different varieties.” He shot Severus a knowing look. “As you already know, Severus. We have to hide the nut balls, or you eat so many you make yourself ill.”

Severus of course had not forgotten the famous Potter Christmas baking extravaganza. But there was no way in the magical world he was going to let Potter off easy and trade assignments now.

“Thank you, but no,” he said. He sounded both prim and put out. “I’ll have a go at it myself. Baking sounds…not entirely unenjoyable.”

“Not entirely unenjoyable?” Potter stared at him, mouth twitching up at the corners. He shook his head. “You’ve been invited to bake with us the last three years, Severus. You’ve declined every time and instead holed up with Minerva in her quarters, finishing off her scotch.” He shook his head and gathered up his things. “Fine, bake your biscuits by yourself. I’ve got snowflakes to cut.”

So, on Saturday morning, while Filius bought his rum and Potter cut out snowflakes, while Longbottom made organic Christmas ornaments for the staffroom tree from pinecones and juniper berries, and while Poppy devised an original “Get to know your fellow professors better” game that required that each bring their baby picture to the party, Severus Snape baked Santa’s Thumbprints.

In an inspired move, he’d given Albus Potter detention the day before.

“Detention for what?” Albus had protested, rolling his eyes and adding a reluctant “Sir?” when Severus glared at him.

“For your atrocious penmanship,” said Severus. “Four o’clock today, and do be on time, Mr. Potter.”

Albus Severus Potter was—though Severus shook his head in disbelief whenever he acknowledged it—the best of the N.E.W.T. level Potions students. He had spent the last three summers working at his uncles’ shop in Diagon Alley. He was also Severus’ Snape’s godson. Together, they were a formidable team. Because Severus Snape needed a formidable potion to add to the preserves that would top the thumbprint biscuits. A potion that would make everyone think twice before tasking him with biscuit baking in the future, that would excuse him from ever again having to stick his hand into that abysmal hat.

Now, Severus looked at the ingredients spread out on the counter, then back at the table behind him where the vial holding the clear, viscous potion stood at the ready. He had to admit that his godson was brilliant. Using a sugar syrup base assured that the active ingredients would bind to the fruit in the preserves. The potion would be tasteless and the effects quick-acting.

Severus would have snickered, except he never snickered. Not even when he was alone in the room and there was no one around to hear him.

He checked the recipe, sighed and got to work.

When he had one hundred perfectly made balls of dough, each of them exactly two inches in diameter, he began to meticulously roll each one in the chopped nuts.

When he had one hundred perfectly made and evenly nut-covered balls of dough, he spread the five parchment-covered baking sheets on the table, meticulously aligned five rows of four balls on each, then set about pressing his thumb into each ball, flattening it while leaving a thumb-sized depression.

He rechristened the biscuits “Snape’s Thumbprints.” He wondered if the biscuits would taste vaguely of ink.

Finally, it was time for the coup de grace, a dollop of potion-laced preserves into each depression. He was exceedingly careful not to lick his fingers during the filling process. Into the oven, out onto cooling racks and, finally, he packed the biscuits loosely in the decorative tins that Albus had borrowed from his parents’ cupboard.

Severus settled back into his worn leather chair with a glass of wine in his hand and a well-satisfied look in his eyes and relaxed while the houses elves cleaned up the mess.

~*~

“Severus, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Minerva said, admiring the biscuits artfully arranged on the platter.

“I am obviously capable of far more than you believe,” he said dismissively. He wrinkled his nose as glitter from one of the hundred hovering snowflakes rained down on him. Several sparkly bits adhered to his eyelashes, the only touch of Christmas color on his person, but he took no notice.

“I do believe I shall try one,” said Minerva, reaching out then pausing to look up at Severus. “You _did_ use my recipe, did you not? It was my grandmother’s. I’m quite fond of it.”

“Of course I used your recipe,” retorted Severus. “And fresh ingredients straight from the kitchens. Did you perhaps think I had another recipe for Santa’s Thumbprint Biscuits tucked away in my files?”

“Strawberry, I think,” mused Minerva, ignoring his sarcasm as she picked up one with red filling and took a dainty bite. Her face lit up as she chewed.

“Severus, these are exquisite!” she exclaimed.

“What? The biscuits?” Pomona Sprout regarded the great tray of confections. “Severus made these?”

“Of course I made them,” Severus answered with an exaggerated sigh. “I drew the task directly from the ruddy hat. Not all of us got to choose ‘festoon sprigs of mistletoe over the doorways’.”

“The hat nearly spat that one out at me,” said Pomona with a satisfied smile. She bit into a biscuit. “Why, these are lovely.” She took another—a currant to go along with the boysenberry—and wandered away to visit with Charlie Weasley, the new Care of Magical Creatures professor.

It didn’t take long for the entire staff to crowd around the table, each of them incredulous that Severus Snape could possibly have created such a fine specimen of biscuit.

Minerva was the first to finish hers.

“Severus, when was the last time you had sex?” she asked, wiping her fingers on a convenient paper serviette. “You’re still a young man, well, in wizarding terms, anyway. A nice shag in the shower might wipe that tight-lipped frown off you face.” She looked him up and down. “Perhaps the two of us could have a go at it.”

Wait wait wait. Severus suddenly saw the potential flaw in his master plan. Minerva, obviously unaware she had voiced that particular thought aloud, reached for a second biscuit.

“I wonder if Snape likes blokes or girls?” asked Charlie Weasley as everyone else stared at Minerva, obviously trying to imagine her in the shower with Severus. “I’d have pegged him for a queer except for his taste in clothing.”

Poppy Pomfrey, counting down the months to her upcoming retirement, held a hand over her mouth as she suppressed a giggle. “I can’t speak for his sexuality, but last summer I treated him for some killer hemorrhoids.” She, too, took a second biscuit, picking among them until she found a blackberry.

Severus turned three shades of red as Charlie Weasley looked at him with interest. He opened his mouth to give a well-placed retort but was distracted by movement across the table. Oh blast! Harry Potter had snuck in and was thoughtfully chewing a biscuit. 

“Good, aren’t they, Harry?” asked Charlie, reaching for a second himself.

Harry swallowed. “Delicious.” He drew out the “dee” and licked his lips. “And Snape’s not exactly queer, Charlie—he’s bisexual. We’ve had him in our bed dozens of time. He’s got a prick to die for, and he knows how to use it. Ginny and I are always fighting over which one of us gets to have a go with him first.”

When everyone laughed uproariously, the look on Severus’ face went from abject horror to stunned disbelief.

The potion was working beautifully. Those inner thoughts, those thoughts that flit by the brain and never make it to the mouth—for good reason, indeed—were being voiced by anyone who sampled a biscuit. The potion was designed to short-circuit the inner monologue and, when well-executed, the speaker would not even realize that he or she had spoken out loud. The potion was fast-acting, quickly metabolized and exceedingly difficult to trace. Most victims would voice only one or two thoughts before the effects wore off. 

Severus had expected it to be humiliating.

He had not expected it to be humiliating for _him_.

He glanced at the biscuit tray. The staff had made a big dent in it already. He had to get out of here. He started maneuvering through the crowd of staff members but Neville Longbottom’s voice momentarily stopped him.

“I’d like to sleep with you and Ginny too, Harry. I’ll have to ask Hannah, of course, but I don’t expect she’ll mind as long as she gets a go too. She’s a master at fellatio—no gag reflex, you know.”

More laughter. Oh my. This was bound to turn out badly. He edged toward the door.

And was stopped by a vice-like hand on his upper arm.

“Severus Snape,” hissed Minerva. “What did you put in these biscuits?”

She was brandishing the tiny unconsumed bit of her second biscuit.

“Nothing.” He affected an innocent look. He wore it badly. “Fine. Ingredients. More specifically, the ingredients on the recipe I drew out of the ruddy hat.”

But Minerva’s eyes had strayed. Sybil Trelawney had arrived at the party. She stood just inside the door, eyes owl-like behind thick, oversized glasses, and accepted a biscuit from Pomona.

“Oh dear, it’s Sybil. You know, Severus, she’s been wanting to get in your pants since she helped Poppy care for you after the Final Battle. She volunteered to give you your sponge bath nearly every day.” Minerva glanced down at Severus’ crotch and smiled fondly. “There was just no privacy in that ward with so many wounded. My, my, my…what they say about the relationship between a man’s nose and his private parts is certainly true.”

Despite the talk about sponge baths, Severus felt terribly dirty.

“Perhaps you’ve had enough biscuits, Minerva,” he said, trying to sound kind and helpful.

“Oh, I’d like to nibble your biscuit, Severus Snape,” crooned Sybil Trelawney, sidling up next to Severus and elbowing Minerva out of the way.

“Charlie! That’s your fifth biscuit! Save some for the rest of us!”

“Merlin these things are good. I wonder if Severus is as good in bed as he is in the kitchen…”

“Oh, he is. He definitely is. Our sex life is so much better since we seduced him. And Merlin, he has the most sensitive nipples…”

“Time for party games!” 

Merlin! Had Severus just suggested that they play _games_?

“Oooh! Oooh! I have one! Let’s guess who’s going to be Headmaster or Headmistress after the old broad finally decides to retire.”

Whoops. Jenkins, the new Astronomy professor, had just lost his chance at a contract renewal.

Minerva reached up and pinched Jenkins’ cheek.

“It’s a good thing you’re so easy on the eyes, Jenkins, or you wouldn’t last the year here.”

Well then…

“Severus, these cookies are scrumptious.” Madam Portales, the twenty-something librarian, smiled brightly at him. “They’d be lovely with milk. It’s such a shame I can’t digest dairy. It makes me extremely flatulent and I bloat up like it’s that time of the month.”

Severus stared at the petite young woman. Too. Much. Information. 

“Well, I think I’d better be heading back to my quarters. I’ve a stack of essays to grade…”

“Oh, no you don’t, Severus.” Minerva’s iron grip was on his arm again. “You can’t leave without eating at least one of these wonderful biscuits. What flavor do you prefer?”

“Haven’t you had one yet?” asked Longbottom, smiling jovially at Severus. “They’re remarkably good considering the greasy git had his hands in the dough. Here, try a rhubarb.”

Severus wisely chose not to react to the greasy git comment. He held up his hands. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Rubbish. I insist.” Minerva took the biscuit from Neville and placed it into Severus’ hands. 

Severus stared at the biscuit. He swallowed. “I’m not hungry.”

“Eat it, Severus.”

Minerva meant business. She glared at him, arms crossed over her chest.

Severus wondered if he’s built up a resistance to the potion while smelling its fumes while the biscuits baked. He hoped so. He took a bite, avoiding the preserves in the center.

Minerva tapped her foot.

He took another bite. And another.

Conversation wafted around them. He heard Potter’s voice again. “Actually, the left one hangs a bit lower than the right.” And Hooch. “Found Bill Weasley and the head girl in the broom shed once. Bollocks the size of bludgers and a broomstick I’d ride any day…”

In the end, he was holding a circle of preserve-laden cookie, a half inch in diameter.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. She tapped the fingers of her right hand against her left elbow.

“I’m waiting.”

Severus sighed. Well, why not? Everyone else was baring their souls. Why not join in the fun? He popped the biscuit morsel into his mouth, chewed it appreciatively, swallowed it then turned away from Minerva deliberately. 

But Minerva was a fast cat for her age. She was in front of him in an instant.

“So, Severus,” she said, with feigned casualness. “Would you rather have a go with me or with Sybil?”

_I’d rather have a go with my own hand and a tube of lube_ he thought.

“Oh?” said Minerva.

_I’d wilt like a day-old daisy if I had to look at either of their wrinkled old bodies…_

“Maybe forcing you to eat that biscuit wasn’t such a good idea after all…”

_Thank Merlin I’m not saying this out loud. Because I certainly wouldn’t want Minerva to know that I used to get it on with Albus Dumble…_

“Oh?” she said, arching an eyebrow. 

“Would it help if I wore turquoise robes with gold stars?” Sybil’s low voice resonated in his ear. “Maybe a bit of role play with some half moon glasses and a knobby wand?”

“You and _Albus_?” Harry’s voice hissed in his other ear. “So that time we did it on Minerva’s desk with his portrait watching—what was _that_ all about?”

“What? My desk? You did it on my _desk_?”

Severus, knowing when he was beaten, shrugged his shoulders and reached for another biscuit.

_Fin_


End file.
